


I'm Not a Miracle and You're Not a Saint

by CaffeineChic



Series: Domesticated Sexay [3]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:58:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2224797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeineChic/pseuds/CaffeineChic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quiet time in Loud places</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not a Miracle and You're Not a Saint

**Author's Note:**

> Moving all my fic to one place - originally posted 2008

I'm Not a Miracle and You're Not a Saint by CaffeineChic

* * *

 

Every cell in her body (cancerous and otherwise) automatically unfurls the instant he begins to read to her. No matter how tight she is pulled beforehand; no matter that this setting is not predisposed to relaxation; no matter their issues with each other outside of this space. It is nothing more than the tiny circumference of her lifestation bed (disconcertingly *hers*) and his worn chair (as close as possible). The moment the book spine cracks and the timbre of his voice rumbles over her, the tension is washed away. The intimacy they share in this quiet time touches them both more than any other more overtly romantic act could. He never misses a treatment; she never allows anyone else to be present. A private time in such a public arena - an unseemly destination for a ‘date’.

The rustle of the curtain stills them both. A junior officer appears, fittingly nervous at disturbing the Admiral and the President (Bill and Laura are appropriately annoyed ). _'Sorry Sir, Colonel Tigh wanted to remind you that you have a briefing in CIC.'_ A split second pause before a hurried _'Ma'am.'_ hits her ears. The officer flees; practically kicking up dust in his wake .

_'Frak. Thought I'd rescheduled that.'_ He stands with resignation.

_'You're soooo unreliable.'_ , the words dance from her lips, all humour and light as her eyes fight to stay open. He huffs good-naturedly and catches her gaze, his look an apology in itself. She dismisses the need for it with a tiny shake of her head as she loses the battle to keep her eyes open.

He taps the book gently against her knees and she takes the hint, reaching out blindly for it; her fingers closing over his on its spine. _'No skipping ahead.'_ (She would never.)

Fingers squeeze tighter; the book changes hands, his lips brush her cheek, a soft hum in the back of her throat, someone whispering _'I'll see you at home.'_ The events unfold before them in a simple sequence that individually would have meant something but together meant _everything_. They are leaders, she is dying, and he reads to anchor her here. And they will see each other at home.


End file.
